


soap bubbles

by soapyconnor



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, its nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: the dish soap keeps disappearing





	soap bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! i just wanted to write something fluffy dskjbfjdfhg if you like this you can send me requests on tumblr!!! my username is soapyconnor <3

            “God dammit, where is all the fuckin’ dish soap going?” Hank snapped, searching through the cabinets with fervor. He slammed the cabinets shut and rose to his feet, looking out to the kitchen where Connor was curled up, with a large, fluffy blanket wrapped around him. “Connor!”

            “Wha?” Connor asked, his eyes jerking towards Hank and his head slightly tilting to the side. He blinked innocently, folding his arms over the arm of the couch and resting his chin on his forearms. “What did you ask?”

            “The fuckin’ dish soap!” Hank said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do you never listen to me?”

            “I listen to you all the time? When you told me not to jump over the fence to get to that AX400 I listened?” Connor frowned at him, spreading his legs out on the couch. He blinked. “Oh, the dish soap . . . um, I have no idea. I can order some, if you like.”

            Hank turned and gave him a look. “You know what I fuckin’ meant, you idiot . . . and yeah, you ordering the soap _now_ really solves the issue of me needing to wash the dishes, you know, _now?_ ”

            Connor, once again, blinked at him. “I can run to the corner store and get you some. It really won’t take all that long,” he said, slowly getting up and unwrapping himself, some of the fuzz sticking to his hands.

            Hank waved a hand. “All right, fine, go get it. It’d be nice to fuckin’ know where it went.”

            “Maybe Sumo got it?” Connor suggested, looking at said dog and bending down to gently pet him.

            “Sumo’s old. And he’s not stupid enough to fuckin’ eat dish soap. Right, Sumo?” Hank asked, glancing towards where the dog lay, spread out and his head resting against the wooden floor.

            Sumo raised his head briefly, before he set it back down. Connor looked at him, and shrugged. “Beats me. Who knows, stranger things have happened.” Connor stretched, raising his hands languidly above his head, before he slowly relaxed and lowered himself down. “I’ll be back soon. Sorry about the mystery disappearance.”

            Hank waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Get a move on with it.”

 

 

            Hank sat back, staring at Connor through the glass as the man interrogated a human. Gavin stood behind him, looking quite crossed. “He’s not going to get any information out of him,” Gavin said with a snort.

            Hank waved his hand. “Shut up. He gets more information out of them than most. Stop being such a numb nut.”

            Gavin opened his mouth, before he slowly closed it, and turning away defiantly.

            Officer Morton, who was sitting next to Hank, glanced at him. “So. Have you solved the mystery of the disappearing _Dawn_?”

            Hank continued to watch Connor, jealous of the man’s movements, how smooth he was with words. “No. Not yet. I swear, when Connor does the dishes, he uses way more than he should. That’s the only explanation for it.”

            “I think he eats it,” Morton responded with a laugh.

            Both officer’s eyes darted to Morton, staring at him. Hank’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What?”

            Morton shrugged. “I don’t know. The bastard likes to eat samples and blue blood. I know it’s a part of his functionality, but he still seems to enjoy it too much. I once caught sticking a criminal’s hand in his mouth just so he could make sure that they were who he thought they were.” Morton glanced at him. “What? You haven’t noticed?”

            Hank sat back in the chair. He blinked, and looked Connor up and down. The thought had never crossed his mind. Connor did have an obsession with fluids. Sometimes he chugged a pop or a drink just because he could.

            His face grew a little red upon remembering his . . . _eagerness_ during sex.

            But no. Hank was certain Connor wouldn’t drink soap.

            “Never mention this again, officer,” Hank grumbled, relieved when Connor turned to the glass and gave a thumbs up.

            Morton raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more.

 

 

            Months had passed. The mystery of the disappearing _Dawn_ had still not been solved, and Hank, quite frankly, had given up. Sure, it was expensive buying a new bottle about once a week, but what was it worth worrying about it?

            Nothing was gonna change. Whatever was happening was just gonna continue.

            _Maybe you’re growing senile and you just don’t realize it yet?_

            The thought struck through Hank’s head like a bullet. It was something that had never crossed his mind before now, and it honestly rocked him to the core.

            He attempted to get the idea out of his head as he watched Connor interrogate an android. He glanced at the clock, sighing when he saw it was only eleven o’clock. He sat back in the chair, arms crossed, his mind slowly falling into the pit of self-doubt.

            His gaze ended up on the floor in front of him, drilling bullets in the concrete when Connor suddenly stopped talking, and he heard Gavin go, “ _What the fuck_?”

            Hank looked up, nearly out of his chair by the time his eyes landed on Connor, but he stopped.

            Connor stood in the middle of the interrogation room, his back rim rod straight and a hand delicately placed over his mouth. He was blushing blue as a bubble slowly floated across the room and hit the android in the face.

            Hank blinked. “What happened?”

            Before anyone could respond, Connor hiccupped, and two more bubbles came out, floating gently across the room. Hank’s jaw slightly gaped, and Connor said, “Excuse me,” before he darted out of the interrogation room. He stood briefly in front of Hank, his face growing a deeper shade of blue. “I—” he began, but hiccupped, and subsequently another few bubbles came out.

            It popped right in Hank’s face, and all he could smell was the scent of _Dawn_ dish soap.

            Connor was gone before the information could process.

 

 

            Connor was really gonna get a tongue lashing when Hank found him.

            Hank thanked one of the android officers and turned, continuing to look around the station for Connor. He glanced at the clock. It was almost eight PM, and still no sign of Connor. He wasn’t mad about the soap thing, but he was fucking mad now.

            Hank wanted to go home, but he wouldn’t until he located his— _frustrating­—_ boyfriend. The surveillance cameras in the lobby revealed he was still in the building, and the police station was only so big . . .

            He headed towards the bathroom, abruptly stopping when he noticed the door to the interrogation room was open slightly. He cocked his head, and sighed, before he slowly opened the door and headed in.

            His eyes landed on Connor, who was curled up in the corner of the room, a hand over his mouth. He was still hiccupping up bubbles, as the entire room smelled of fuckin’ _Dawn_. Connor’s eyes were red, his cheeks tear stained, and he sniffed.

            _Bastard must have been moving so I couldn’t find him,_ Hank thought, preventing himself from shaking his head.

            He walked over to Connor and sat down across him, slowly crossing his legs. “I thought you were a fucking weirdo, Connor, but I never took you as the type to drink soap.”

            Connor sniffed again, but didn’t respond.

            Hank studied him, and sighed, before he gently removed Connor’s hand from his mouth. “Look, Connor, I’m not mad. It’s dish soap. It’s not that expensive. I was just getting frustrated from having to buy so many bottles, you know?” There was no reaction from him, and Hank sighed. “Please. Just walk to me. All I want to know is why.”

            No response.

            Hank gently kissed the back of his hand.

            Connor crumbled. “It makes me feel good, okay? I don’t . . . I don’t know why. But it makes me feel good and then I don’t drink your pop and then you can’t get mad at me for drinking all of it,” he rambled, waving a hand.

“Connor—”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. But you always yell at me when I take samples or do this thing, or something else that makes you grossed out. I was just—trying to minimize—how I made you feel,” he said, desperately searching for words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d find out this way.”

Hank stared at him, and began to chuckle. “It’s okay, honestly. I mean, it is weird, but if it brings you comfort, then . . . then have at it.” Hank looked at him with soft eyes. “I was never seriously made with you. I was just messing around, poking fun at you. I’ve never been mad at you for any of this . . .” He looked him in the eyes and reached forward, tracing his bottom lip with his thumb. “I only got mad at the sampling because I kiss this mouth. It’s weird knowing someone’s blood was in there.” Hank took his hand. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that, Connor.”

Connor waved a hand, and smiled at him crookedly.

“I didn’t know you could hiccup.”

“Neither did I,” Connor admitted, his face turning a dark shade of blue.

“Well, it’s cute,” Hank said, “You should do it more.”

Connor beamed.


End file.
